From time to time, poetry and particularly poignant, potent or eloquent writing by Reader/Writer student participants grabs our attention. This space is reserved for such pieces.
These streets ain’t a place to be
Just to let you know I’ve walked through towns to see
To see from my point of view
This is real stuff I’m telling you
No need to lie
Gangbanging ain’t the way to fly
Going to school
That’s what’s cool
Not drinking and smoking
In the end you’ll pay the token
These streets ain’t a place to be
P. H.
With every new day I’m growing.
Often times without even knowing.
I may start out in one place
But end up in a different space.
As long as I’m breathing I’ll evolve
And have issues I want to solve.
Life is difficult, life is hard.
No one lives without being scarred.
I’m a work in progress, just a child.
D. S.
Where can I find it?
Searched high and low
Must be hiding
Looked for it in my family
but they need some their self
So I looked for some in the streets
which set me up
to watch me fail
Where can I find it?
Searched high and low
Must be hiding
A. C.
Is change just a figure of speech?
Can it bring me to the center of peace?
Can it bring my mind as far as space
when it’s trapped inside the darkest place?
Should I give respect to wrong and to right?
Or show neglect and grieve my life?
K. R.
I am so alone,
so cold in this crazy world.
Where do I go?
Trying to figure out
why my life is this way.
I walk around the lake
getting soaked by the rain.
I can feel my pain
crawling up my veins.
Day by day
I pray to a God,
“Will all this change?”
R. N.
The streets have feelings for nobody.
They’re just a surface on which we walk,
a slang death to the next fiend,
a surface on which a body lays
when a body falls.
They don’t care about your tears
flowing down your cheeks like Niagra Falls.
Now the streets are kind to some
but not kind to most.
They have stop signs atop posts.
But what are they really stopping?
Bodies still dropping,
that crack rocket still shooting
fiends to their dreams
with that mystical white cream.
These streets are not a game,
nor are they a dream.
They’re my reality
and if I keep living this life,
they will lead to my fatality.
But in all actuality
the streets are not for me no more.
I don’t adore
making fast money anymore,
‘cause once it slows down,
ain’t no going up,
just your life crumbling down.
P. H.
Life in the fast land is never slow
The faster you move the more time goes
No father, so no yellow light
Just drifting away like a sky-lit kite
But time goes on and I plant my feet
Pumping my brakes so I can see
the future the Lord has for me.
Sometimes I wonder why this world got so hurtful.
People come on this earth to live and also they die.
What is our purpose for being here?
I love to live my life,
but when I think of death my whole mindset changes.
I’m scared of the thought of dying.
Sometimes I wonder where we go when we die.
Is it a happy or a scary place?
Grief is the hardest thing to get over.
J. T.
